


An Understanding

by orphan_account



Category: Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Elevator Hookup, F/M, Gen, Hammer is obsessed, Justin Hammer has issues, M/M, Pre-Iron Man, References to Drug Use, Stark not so much, Tony Stark is a playboy, Unrequited Lust, billionaires doing billionaire things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am one-hundred percent serious. No drama, no strings, just a little release,” Justin teases, purposefully exaggerating his body language; spreading his legs wide and groaning provocatively. “I am just as susceptible to media backlash as you, Anthony.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> I blame 'All Hail the King' entirely for this.

 

 

Justin Hammer was not an idle man. So when his father passed, leaving behind a third-rate defense contracting firm that could barely find contract work cleaning the latrines of overseas military installations, Justin had wasted no time putting his mechanical engineering degree to good use; building the machines his father had been too shortsighted to consider viable.

He made a name for himself, made Hammer Industries into something respectable, and then, one day, his ambition brought him face to face with the man who’s own designs kept Hammer Industries from being number one.

Tony Stark was a whirlwind of sarcasm, liquor and technological genius. It didn’t help matters that the man was incredibly handsome and had been fueling Justin’s late night fantasies since he was a teen.

Somewhere in his Manhattan penthouse there’s still a copy of the June 1991 issue of Forbes, the one where Tony looks more like a movie star than a coked-out twink mourning the loss of his parents.

“If we had even one engineer with a mind like his,” Justin remembers his father lamenting while thumbing through the article. “We’d be set.”

Justin remembers not speaking up to remind his father that he and Tony Stark only had a ten point difference in their IQs, and that ‘genius’ is just as much a product of environment as it is genetics, but he keeps his mouth shut and just makes sure that the man’s will is as ironclad as Justin’s prototype AMPV.

 

* * *

 

It’s 1996, and Justin meets Tony Stark for the first time at a MOMA charity gala, though really, it isn’t much of a meeting. 

Tony’s obviously a few drinks in and seems to be fairly preoccupied with simply standing upright; and the man with him, someone Justin recognizes as Obadiah Stane from the glut of recent press surrounding SI, is keeping a firm hand on his shoulder, directing him through the crowd with all the distant affection of a puppet master.

Stane reminds Justin of his own father, and that’s reason enough to dislike him.

When Tony is finally alone at the bar, Justin sidles up beside him hoping to make some kind of an impression

“Isn’t it funny how you light something up and you’re the toast of the town?” He isn’t trying to be coy, but somehow the line comes across as more flirtatious than snarky.

Tony gives him a once over, gaze lingering on the drink in Justin’s hand, before snapping his fingers like he’s trying to kickstart his memory, “You’re,” _Snap. Snap. Snap._ “Jake Hammer!” 

“Justin,” He corrects automatically, watching Tony’s brow furrow at the response before the man grins widely.

“Yeah, what I said. Your company is spearheading the Bradley redesign, right? I thought for sure we were going to get that contract.”

“So did I.” A deep voice interjects, and Justin blinks away from Tony’s beatific expression and up to the steely gaze of Obadiah Stane. 

“Seems our legal team didn’t put in for the patents quickly enough. Quite a lucky break for you, kid. Rest assured it won’t happen again.” 

He’s not quick enough with a response, intelligible words dying fast on his tongue as Stane regards him with the all the kindness of an apex predator in a petting zoo. Tony seems to have missed the exchange entirely, throwing his arms wide in greeting at the man’s continued presence, but the moment Stane turns away Tony’s hand is a comfortable weight on Justin’s shoulder. 

“He’s just being dramatic,” Tony says conspiratorially to Stane’s back. “You guys do great work. At some point I want to see the specs for that Bradley.”

Tony is so close that Justin could easily lean in for a kiss, but he’s too flustered after receiving what will turn out to be the first and only compliment Tony Stark will ever pay him.

Later, a socialite Justin doesn’t care to remember the name of introduces him to a model named Katrina who flirts with him the entire night after someone informs her that Justin is a billionaire and evidently worth her time.

That night, as he stares at the back of Katrina's head, her close-cropped black hair disheveled into sweaty spikes, he moves his hips a little faster and imagines that it’s really Tony Stark riding his cock and not some euro-trash gold-digger.

 

* * *

 

The morning of Tony Stark’s twenty-eighth birthday, nine hours before the man’s private party in the penthouse suite of the St. Regis Hotel, two stories break regarding Stark Industries.

The first is a piece put out by the Times that alleges several cases of arms trafficking being linked to SI’s newest production run. The second is a gossip piece on Tony Stark’s recent stint in rehab. By noon, the only story anyone seems to care about is the one involving a young billionaire trying to kick his cocaine habit.

Justin still reads the article about arms trafficking in the sub-Saharan region, not because he thinks Tony might actually be involved, but more because he’s trying to figure out why none of these para-military organizations are clamoring for Hammertech. 

When Justin’s chauffeur arrives at the Regis, paparazzi swarm the Bentley thinking he’s Tony. He stays in the car longer than necessary, savoring the commotion outside and allowing himself to feel what it must be like to be Stark, if only for a brief moment. As expected, they disperse quickly they realize Justin is not the billionaire they are looking for. The dismissal stings for a moment, and he wonders just what it would take for the media to regard him with even half the persistence they do Stark, but the thought is a distant one when he finds Tony on the balcony not an hour later; a lit cigarette dangling precariously from his lips while he looks out over the skyline.

“Some party,” Justin ventures, and the look that Tony gives him could articulate ‘fuck off,’ in at least a dozen languages. 

“I’m not in the mood for small-talk, Hammer. Go bother someone else.” Stark mutters, flicking the still-burning cigarette into the night air. Justin watches the dull orange glow disappear against the city lights.

“That’s not very sporting,” Justin argues, leaning against the railing beside Tony and keeping his own flitting nervousness in check. “What if I came all this way to give you a present?”

Tony gives him a hairy eye and wets his lips. Everything about him, from his posture to his dress, screams exhaustion.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What do you want.”

“Hey, you’ve had a rough day, I’ve had a rough day and I feel like a birthday blowjob might be in order.”

This is not exactly how Justin was expecting this conversation to go, nor are they the words that he intended to come out of his mouth, but he can make this work.

“That’s funny,” Tony says, irritation seeping into his voice. “That’s real fucking funny. Trying to see how low you can drop my stock in one day? Tell your board of directors to go fuck themselves. ”

“I am one-hundred percent serious. No drama, no strings, just a little release.” Justin teases, purposefully exaggerating the manner in which he’s resting against the railing; spreading his legs wide and groaning provocatively. “I am just as susceptible to media backlash as you.”

Tony snorts in disbelief, but casts an eye to their surroundings, checking to see if anyone has been listening in.

“You know what? Fine. I accept. I could stand to blow off some steam.” 

 

* * *

 

Justin is twenty-five when he goes down on Tony Stark in the service elevator of the St. Regis Hotel. 

He’s just secured a five billion dollar contract with the U.S. military, his jet prototype is going to be on the cover of the September issue of Popular Mechanics, his father is dying of radiation poisoning, and Tony Stark’s cock is heavy and sweet on his tongue. 

“Oh, god, yes, just like that.”

Justin wants to sing his own platitudes, give Tony some idea of the absolute bliss that he himself feels in this moment, but Tony’s hands are tangled tight in his hair and his gag reflex keeps wanting to make an appearance; so he just palms his own erection through his slacks and smiles around the engorged sex organ in his mouth. 

It’s a hell of a boost to his already inflated ego, and in that freight elevator Justin feels like he’s accomplished every goal he’s ever set out to achieve. The only way this night could get any better is if the hospice calls with ‘terrible news’.

Tony shudders and spills, sticky warmth clotting in Justin’s throat, and he swallows it all down reflexively, coughing slightly when the softening organ slips from his mouth.

“Did you come?” Tony asks breathlessly, looking down at him with hooded eyes, and while he’s tucking himself back into his briefs, Justin debates lying.

“Working on it,” he says, settling for honesty and gesturing to his own erection peeking through the zip of his slacks. There’s dirt and grime on the fabric from where his knees have met the floor, and Justin may never have this suit dry-cleaned again. He’s sentimental like that.

“I’ve got it,” Tony mumbles, not dispassionately, and drops to his knees. “You feel like standing?” 

No, Justin doesn’t feel like standing. He feels like his legs will give out and he’ll die here at Tony’s feet, but he scrambles up nonetheless, lets his slacks drop to rest at his thighs and tries not to orgasm the moment Tony’s lips wrap around the head of his erection.

He doesn’t last long at all, truthfully he doesn’t want to hold back. He’s spent years imagining that every ass he’s fucked, every mouth that has sucked his cock, every hand that has slipped beneath his the band of his briefs has  belonged to Tony Stark. This victory is practically eternal.

Tony steals the pocket square from his jacket and discreetly rids himself of a mouthful of Justin’s semen before gently tucking Justin’s cock back into his pants. He’s still on his knees, lips swollen and spit-slick, but he’s grinning up at Justin like he’s the only person that matters in the entire world. 

“We should do this again.” Tony says bruskly, wiping a hand over his lips. “You’re cute, for a competitor, and Obi hates you, so that’s a strike in your favor.”

When Tony finally stands — Justin helps him up, he’s a nice guy like that — he takes one of his business cards and presses it to Justin’s lips, keeping the thin barrier between them as Tony presses his own lips to the other side in a parody of a kiss. Justin can feel Tony’s body heat through the card stock.

Tony thumbs the emergency switch and tosses a wink in Justin’s direction as the lift begins moving once more.

“My personal number.” Tony says casually, fixing his tie and smoothing his hair. “You and I, we have an understanding. Give me a call and we’ll talk business.”

Something clicks.

“Are you,” Justin stammers, kicking himself for showing any weakness. “Are you offering to buy me out?”

“It’s just business, baby.” Tony soothes, leaning in close to tuck the card in the breast pocket of Justin’s suit jacket.The elevator doors slide open on a surprised bellhop, and Tony pushes past the man with ease.

“I’m not for sale, Anthony.” Justin calls out, and he gets a sliver of satisfaction from the way the man’s retreating back stiffens at the use of his full name.

“I didn’t say I actually wanted to buy your third-rate tech _,_ Hammer.” Tony retorts, not slowing and certainly not turning back around. “Maybe I just wanted to buy your mouth.”

“Just business.” Justin echoes hollowly, pulling the card from his pocket and ignoring how desperately he wants to follow Tony back to his room. 

 

* * *

 

Years later, Justin will look back on their one intimate encounter with no small amount of reverence. 

When Tony disappears in an Afghani desert, and every news organization in the world declares the man as good as dead, Justin mourns what could have been and reorganizes his research and development team to piggyback several pre-patented Stark designs.

When Tony comes back from the dead, the literal embodiment of a knight in shining armor, Justin gladly accepts the military contracts Stark Industries will no longer bid for. Hammer Industries makes weapons. Justin makes billions.

When the U.S. military comes calling for an Iron Man-class armor and Justin can’t deliver, he remembers that he and Tony have an understanding. What was between them was only ever just business, and there’s no reason that emotion should come between them. 

Even if Justin still carries an outdated and stained Stark Industries business card in his wallet.

 

 


End file.
